Misadventures of a Hero
by daeneverfinishes
Summary: Harry knew saving his cousin was the right thing to do. He just didn't think the Dementor would go after him - really - why do things just keep happening to him? AN: Will actually try to finish this one.
1. Preface

**Author's Notes:** Here I am again, taking liberties with two of my favorite yarns. May Eru have mercy on me and that Sourdough and/or Voldysnores curse me not. Still, keep in mind I make no profit from these literary accomplishments. After all; all rights are due to the authors these works and characters belong. I'm merely playing in the elaborate sandbox provided to me by the wonderful world of fan fiction. Additionally – I am in desperate need of a beta – any takers?

* * *

**Preface **

'Do not be afraid; our fate  
Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.'  
- Dante Alighieri, Inferno

He never thought he could possibly die. Out here in no man's land – out here where there was no Privet Drive, no Dursleys, no Hogwarts and certainly no Voldemort.

Instead there was the grotesque cacophony of noise. Flesh hitting flesh, the clang of metal against metal and the squelching noise of death. He wanted to throw up; he wanted to close his eyes and sleep.

Above all he wished for death.

He ducked a swipe of an ax here, lunged and gutted an enemy there. Only to be waylaid by an orc's fist. He fell forcefully to the ground. Stars exploded in his vision and he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't tried to save his godforsaken cousin.

There was a moment of silence as he did his best to get his bearings. Suddenly, more fighting and guttural growls rang through the darkening air. There was a sharp whizzing sound that sounded like arrows forcing him to duck; once again he was on the ground. He protested against his pain. Yes, death was looking like a better option right now.

'Harry,' a gruff voice growled in his ear. 'Are you sleeping?'

The young man groaned. 'Not even close.'

'I thought not, come. Our aid is needed.'

On second thought, as he fought against the orcs in his way with vigor he forgot he had. Perhaps death could wait a bit longer.


	2. One

**One **

_Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch black and lightless - the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant rumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them._

- _Order of the Phoenix, _J.K. Rowling

0 0 0

The word miserable couldn't cover what Harry Potter felt. Dudley was quivering, fear making his demands for answers come out louder than it should've. He strained to hear what he knew instinctively was making things change so drastically in Little Whinging.

He was mid-scold when he heard it – deep, harsh breathing that rattled as if through an empty cavern. Dread pooled in his stomach making him tremble inside not just from the suddenly freezing air.

Dudley's addled fearful threats slammed into him literally. Harry growled. His cousin's terror had made things worse. The pain that came from his cousin's right hook had caused spots in his vision.

"That moronic arse of a cousin," Harry muttered beneath his breath. "DUDLEY! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

He heard his cousin's stumbling as he continued calling to his cousin to stop. The younger teen did what he could to follow. He frantically searched for his wand when he felt the chill from a Dementor's breath from behind him.

The darkness around him was oppressive. He needed light.

"L-lumos!" Soft, dim brightness appeared in his hands. When Harry turned around he saw it creep closer. He managed to think of his best friends before a silver stag erupted from his wand as the young teen stumbled backwards. The Dementor was pushed back violently.

Patronus at his back, Harry forced himself and the conjured beast searching for his cousin. Stumbling through the alleys of Little Whinging, he nearly hurled. There, in the alley just between Magnolia Crescent and Magnolia Drive, was Dudley lying prone and shivering. A dark cloaked creature with a gaping maw had lowered itself close to Dudley's face as though to devour him. Harry screamed at his Patronus to save his cousin.

Moments later Harry James Potter knew nothing more. One of the Dementors had returned for him and with that the chill of darkness impenetrable took him.

0 0 0

It wasn't every day that Námo, Master of Mandos, Doomsman of the Valar felt a shift in the echoes of the Great Music in his mind. He barely acknowledged those he passed as he flew to the hidden Halls of Weaving where his wife sat collapsed as if in pain. The tips of her fingers still placed gently against the threads of the tapestry she was in the middle of weaving.

"My love?" he whispered harshly. He knelt by her side, holding on to her, caressing her hair. He placed a kiss on his forehead uncertain what action to take.

"_Calambar_…" she hissed. "_Calambar_…the warrior…_Telumehtar_…he has come."

Námo paused in confusion as he held on to her. _Calambar_; Light-fated – there were many under that name. _Telumehtar_ – the string of stars that formed the "warrior of the sky". Why was she whispering these words?

Suddenly he felt his wife clench again in pain.

"The Halls of Waiting," she hissed. "Go, **he** has come and he is not alone!"

It took him another few seconds to realize what his wife was telling him. It took him another kiss on her forehead before he flew to the halls where the dead waited.

0 0 0

Harry James Potter, barely 15, woke with a gasping breath as pain ricocheted from his forehead to the tips of his toes. He felt the cold and happiness was lost to him. There was a soft murmur of voices around him that echoed, reverberated that made him uncertain of his place. Still the pain meant he was alive.

"_Áva quetë hinaya. Tullen tye-rehtien_." Soft words he couldn't understand were spoken over him.

It calmed him little as fiery heat shot through his forehead. The intensity of the feeling he had was overwhelming. He felt his throat constrict.

"Make it stop! Please make it stop!"

The soft words continued. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days, a year – really time held no meaning to him. Harry only knew the numbing pain centered on the scar he carried for all his life.

He roared as the soft words were accompanied by a sharp point placed exactly at the scar. The pressure of the point seemed to be extracting something from deep within him. Fiery darts, gasping breaths and a high pitched keening sound imploded inside him. He felt so much that he barely noticed when he passed back into darkness.

0 0 0

"Be quiet my child. I am here to help you." Námo whispered coming across the youth thrashing on the floor of the Halls of Waiting. The souls of those waiting for judgment were suspended in awe as they watched him kneel beside the lad.

He felt it then. His wife was correct; the lad had not come into the halls alone. Being lord of the dead can acquaint one with the darker natures of men and elves. Muttered whispers and the power invested into him by his maker allowed him to see the leech attached to the boy. A dark, twisted worm had wound itself with the child's soul. Its taint clear as the youth thrashed upon the floor.

"Release him dark one. Release him and be gone!"

The worm wriggled as if resisting the power he wielded. In annoyance, Námo held the tip of his dagger _Námië_ – gifted to him by Aulë – to the lightning shaped scar. "Release him dark one. Release him and be gone to the darkest depths of my halls. Your power is no more. Death listens to none but the Lord of All!"

The dark soul crept sluggishly out from the scar, wrapping itself against the dagger's tip. Námo ignored the lad's thrashing as he carefully took care of the leech that had entwined itself with the boy.

Time held no meaning in the Halls of Mandos. The dark worming soul finally came out and wrapped itself around the Doomsman's Dagger a ragged, coiling mass. Without ado, the Doomsman flung it to the darkest depths of the Halls of Waiting. There it would be suspended in one place until the Time for Judgment.

In the quiet that came after – the lad stilled, pale with exertion. Námo returned to the youth, grim at what had occurred. The origin of the leech used dark, unnatural forces to tie itself to the soul of an innocent. To restore the youth would take time and patience. What now?

He let the lad lay where he was kept knowing it would be a while until the child would wake. In a rare gesture of grace the Doomsman of the Valar rested a gentle palm over the dark haired lad's head.

"Sleep," he whispered. "Sleep and dream."

Námo knew he needed to consult his wife and his lord Manwe. _Calambar Telumehtar _indeed, as if this youth's coming could be concealed.

Illuvatar help them all.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you for following this fic! Also to Elf of Ravenclaw, I do hope this answers a little bit of your question. I apologize also for the long time it took for me to update. All reviews are highly valued and desired!


	3. Two

**Two **

The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

- Theodore Roethke, _The Collected Poems_

For the first time in years he felt weightless. He felt as if some great burden had been lifted from his shoulders and he was no longer as he was. Perhaps it was because he was dead.

He saw countless faces of people he felt he ought to know. There was a woman that had eyes like sun shining through leaves and hair of fire. There was a man who laughed with hair like a black bear's. There were other men too. There was the funny dog man, the quiet tattered man and the ugly toady man he always kicked at. Then there was darkness.

Harry shuddered in his sleep unaware of the figures surrounding him.

"He is not quite what was expected." Aulë grunted. He was one of the great lords of the Undying Lands known most chiefly for his craftsmanship. His strong arms, mountainous figure and long hair of burnished bronze lent him the stature of a giant, benevolent god incarnate.

"They never are." Manwë retorted glibly. He was the Lord of the Winds and head of their order of brothers. His physical features were lithe and his entire countenance spoke like the air. His hair was of spun gold and eyes of summer sky lit up by the sun.

"Aye, what is to be done with him?" Aulë asked. He didn't think much of the skinny boy. He did think that child's hands were meant to wield a sword despite the youth's lesser stature.

"His dreams are not quite peaceful." Irmo whose dark features were softer than his brother's Námo were drawn in thought. "The child is still in the shadows. Rest easy child, let your soul wander through my gardens."

Stiffly Námo nodded. "Let us convene about my wife's halls for the dead begin to stir."

The somber halls often still and peaceful seemed to light with whispers and murmurs. The dead knew that one was alive in their midst. The four lords led by the Doomsman strode past winding catacombs enriched with the soft tapestries created by the gentle hands of Vairë. In silence they arrived in her halls all thinking of the boy waiting with the murmurs of death.

"At last you come." She greeted, her fingers nimbly picking out strands on her latest tapestry. "He is to be sent across the sea. The great darkness is seeping in and he is the one we have waited for."

"So you say Weaver Woman," Aulë grumbled. "He is too small."

"It is not the size dear kinsman that dictates the fate of those under our care. I believe your own creations," Manwë lightly reprimanded. "Are little more than children to the eyes of man."

"It is not my place to insult Illuvatar's creatures." Aulë retorted. "It is my place however to see that His will be done."

"As is it is ours," Vairë interjected with her fingers still deft and her eyes keen about her task. "The child is to go across the sea that much is certain."

"So you say sister," Irmo replied. "I have seen his dreams – this world he comes from is not yet near."

"Aye it is not," Vairë agreed. "He came too soon and too late. Yet, across the sea he must go and into the hands of Illuvatar's Children we must leave him."

"My wife," Námo finally spoke. "You spoke earlier of his fate,_ Calambar Telumehtar_, a warrior of the heavens fated for the light. Even though I know some of Our Great Lord's plans –"

"Hush," Manwë interrupted. "Brother, do you not hear what our Lord says?"

In the stillness with only the plucking of strings they heard a soft resonance in the air. It was low, it was deep, it was sweet and it pulled at their beings. After a time although that too was hard to decipher – the music passed.

"The end," Vairë whispered. "Tis the warning of the end and all heroes great or small, wise or innocent, are being called. The great darkness rises and he is the first."

Melancholy settled about them as would an oncoming storm. None knew when the end would be yet the certainty of the very last days was palpable in the air.

0 0 0

"_I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could have been all killed – or worse, expelled." _

He knew this girl with dark hair that frizzled with the electrical speed of her thoughts. She was his friend, among his best. "Hermione…" he whispered.

_"That's chess! You've got to make some sacrifices! I take one step forward and she'll take me - that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!" _

He knew this boy with flaming hair, easy laughter and fierce temper. "…Ron."

Wakefulness touched his senses – softly, like a caress it fluttered behind his eye lids. He saw his friends. There was the family of redheads that brought him warmth and comfort. There were the school friends who reminded him of laughter, joy. There was the wise man with sparkling eyes. There was the stern woman who hid her laughter behind a tight smile. There were many more memories – most of them tinged with a sadness.

"Arise child," a soft voice whispered. "Arise and awake."

Then there was light.

0 0 0

He groaned.

Wet, he was wet.

He was lying face down too. He could feel coarse material beneath his fingers that rubbed oddly between his knuckles. Sand – he was lying atop sand. He could also feel water rushing against his body. He was on a beach? Wait – that wasn't right.

Blearily he opened his eyes – uncertain of what he was doing on a beach.

"Ah – the boy is waking." A soft, low voice murmured.

"Aye, what is a lad doing out here fresh as the day he was born?" Another questioned.

He groaned again. He felt every ache and pain. His head also didn't feel quite right.

"Steady on lad." The first voice said and he felt calloused hands upon his shoulders. That's when it hit him and he began shivering.

"Boy, what is your name?" The second voice asked.

"Brother," The first voice stated. "He needs a cloak. See how pale he turns?"

It could have been seconds, moments, one hour before he felt true warmth again. The second voice asked him again for his name.

"Harry." He whispered. "My name is Harry."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Sorry this is really slow in updating. Was busy for a bit there. I will have another chapter up hopefully much sooner than this one. Things will be picking up soon! :)


End file.
